


The Wilting Man

by cas_loves_dean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Oneshot, Super Angst, What Have I Done, major character death (not pivotal to the story--you'll see), spn s10, super sad i don't even know what I was thinking, this is what happens when I listen to sad songs and eat too much chocolate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3384410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cas_loves_dean/pseuds/cas_loves_dean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is tired, and Dean is broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wilting Man

              Castiel decides that this is equivalent to losing his grace--watching Dean slowly wither.

              He had lovingly caressed this man’s soul into liveliness, had sewn him back together with threads from deep within him; he had given a piece of himself to this man that could never be returned. He was used to giving too much and receiving nothing in return—that pain he could handle. His millennial being was accustomed to the putrid feeling of rejection and loneliness. But this, watching the thing he loved more than himself, more than his family, more than everything—watching that slowly crumble under the weight of his own self-hatred? That was definitely equivalent to losing part of his self.

              As he sits in his human car, with human feelings, and looks out at the sky created for humans, he cries human tears. Because at the end of the day, that’s all he is. He’s no angel—he’s flawed, broken, and selfish, and that makes him as human as Sam, as human as _Dean._

              The worst part for Castiel, the absolutely most atrocious part of this whole mess is that Dean is always there, always infuriating him with those mossy eyes and that precious aura. He’s always haunting him, always agonizing him with friendly touches and platonic hugs. Castiel is rotting away in a body that isn’t his, with grace that isn’t his, loving someone that isn’t his, and it’s too much.

              Through blurred eyes, he looks at Dean’s precious car. He lets himself imagine for one second the scene he covets most: Dean and him laughing as they drive across the country in that black behemoth, visiting crappy diners and making love in dirty hotel rooms. For once, Castiel imagines happiness.

              Soon, his tears dry. His lip stops its quivering. His brain stops its fantasizing. He turns the key in the ignition, submitting to the exile that these horrible boys subject him to nowadays. These horrible boys that he loves too much to protest against. He keeps his mouth sewed shut with bloodied thread, suppressing his desire to just _be_ with the Winchesters, instead of running errands like some sort of secretary.

              He drives away, away from a tired Sam, away from a broken Dean, and away from all that could never be.

* * *

 

              It’s 3 o’clock in the morning. Castiel is sitting on a ratty motel bed. He has something in his hands, something that should be trash, but couldn’t stay in the trashcan. His hands grip his old trench coat with trembling fingers. He left it in a laundromat a year ago, and went back to retrieve it a week later from the kind laundromat owner who had kept it for him the whole time. It was the symbol of an era in Castiel’s life—the Dean era. He replaced the coat with a new, cleaner version, because he couldn’t don such a symbol. Dean was done with him. Cas was done with Dean.

              Castiel was no longer a virgin. He hadn’t lost his virginity to Dean like he had wanted to for all those months. He hadn’t professed his ardent love for Dean Winchester, and he never would. He wasn’t even an angel anymore. He was different—too different to wear his beloved trench that meant more to him then he could ever explain. So he kept it, with no real reason besides sentimentality (another human trait he adapted without realizing). Most days, it is just him and his trench coat; Castiel, his old coat, and his admiration for a man who was dead inside long before Castiel raised him from hell.

              He is supposed to be searching for a cure, a cure that he knows probably doesn’t exist. He doesn’t want to run errands anymore. He wants to be holding Dean in his bed in the bunker, not sitting on some lumpy motel bed in Shithole, Arkansas.

              In that moment, Castiel realizes something. He isn’t much different from the 2014 Castiel Dean had described to him once. He is pathetic, graceless, and unloved by Dean. Minus the narcotics and the women, he has become an absolute pitiful excuse for a man, let alone an angel.

              He doesn’t want to be like that Castiel anymore. He remembers being a stoic solider of heaven and being confused when a flustered Dean Winchester had come up to him and said, “Don’t ever change.”

              _I’m sorry, Dean. I have changed._

              He doesn’t want to be a pitiful angel that the Winchesters can send on missions, damnit. He’s proved himself again and again, and to be denied the right to stay beside them seems suddenly ridiculous to Cas.

              He bolts up off the bed, removes his new, alien feeling trench coat, and uses his stolen grace to disintegrate it. He grabs the old, weathered trench coat, puts it on, and heads out the door.

              It is noon by the time he gets back to the bunker, having decided to drive in order to have time to collect his thoughts (he has many).

              The sun is hiding behind the clouds, as if to hide from the sight of the surely foolish act he is about to commit.

              He storms into the bunker with confidence borrowed from somewhere deep inside of him. Castiel is tired of being an accessory. He is tired of repressing his feelings. He is too tired to give a damn.

              “Cas?” Sam asks him confusedly, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

              “I have to speak with Dean, Sam.” He tries to relegate with his eyes that it is not of import to Sam, and then turns around to locate Dean.

              The dead lump of cells that used to be Jimmy Novak’s heart almost seems to have a phantom pulse as Castiel knocks on Dean Winchester’s door.

              “Sammy, I told you, I’m fine.” A tired Dean answers the door, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. He looks up, and does a slight double take, “Cas?”

              Cas steps past Dean and into his room like a clap of thunder

              “Cas…what?” Dean barely mumbles out before Cas is mashing their mouths together.

              It’s like his grace temporarily fits back inside of him again.

              Dean is as tense as a taught string, but he doesn’t pull away. Castiel’s arms pitifully grasp at his sides, hoping to coerce some sort of reaction from the man he loves so much.

              Dean’s lips are still.

              Cas gently removes his lips from the nectar of Dean’s, feeling like someone has just stabbed him in the chest. His borrowed lungs (which are now accustomed to breathing) falter, and his whole body feels like it’s been immersed in a frigid version of hell.

              But this is Dean, and really, what was Castiel expecting?

              “What the hell?” Dean says angrily, pushing Castiel away from him.

              “I…I couldn’t be away from you, Dean.” Castiel whispers, staring at Dean’s feet, Dean’s shirt pocket, Dean’s blood crusted fingernails, anywhere but his face…

              “What….what was that, Cas?” Dean sounds so disgusted, and in that moment, Cas knows that he is broken irrevocably.

              “I was just…” He trails off, his words vanished with the last fatal thump of his stolen heart.

              He wastes a lot of his grace teleporting out of Dean’s room like a bat out of hell, but he deems the cause worth depleting his limited supply because it meant he didn’t have to face the disgust in Dean’s eyes.

              He feels numb. He embraces it. He craves oblivion.

* * *

 

              Castiel doesn’t know how long he sits in his dingy motel room in Indiana. The ugly pattern of the motel room carpet becomes a vomitus blur as he contemplates the barren wasteland that is his heart.

              The thing Castiel loves about Dean most is that he continuously renews Castiel’s faith in the human race. No matter the demeaning view Dean has of his self, he is beautifully human. He knows his father would be proud if he could see Dean (and maybe he has seen—Castiel wouldn’t know). Dean always surprises him, he always keeps him on his toes, and today is one of those cases.

              There is a knock at the door. Castiel ignores it, choosing to continue his in-depth analysis of the hideous carpet instead. Then, there is a voice at the door.

              “Cas?” It’s broken, gravelly, and wounded, but he knows who that voice belongs to. He would know that voice in a thousand lifetimes, in a million centuries from now when Dean is but particles in the ground.

              He races to the door, whips it open, and meets Dean’s lips.

              Dean angrily kisses him, pushing him through the doorway and slamming the door shut while he absolutely dominates Cas’s mouth. He throws him against a wall, inhaling Cas’s breath until it feels like they share one pair of lungs between them.

              “Fuck. You.” Dean whispers in Castiel’s ear. Castiel stiffens, but then Dean whispers, “I thought I was straight, goddammit.”

              Later that night, they make love for the first time, and it’s everything Castiel imagined and more.

              And even if Dean locks himself in a garage and inhales the poisonous fumes from his beloved Impala a year later and ends his life, at least Castiel has this night.  

**Author's Note:**

> This is exactly what happens when you're on your period, get really pissed off at the treatment of Cas in SPN, and then eat chocolate while listening to sad music. Bad combination. Would not recommend it. Aw man, this even depressed me. This was a bad idea....
> 
> Leave a comment and let me know what you think, lovelies! Sorry for the angst, I don't know what's wrong with me....??? 
> 
> -Savannah <3


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